


The Price of Moonlight (or, Five Things Paul Gross Knows About Being a Werewolf)

by Lucifuge5



Series: Moonlight!verse [1]
Category: Bandom, Canadian Actor RPF (C6D), My Chemical Romance
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Bandom - Freeform, Moonlight!verse, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-15
Updated: 2011-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-14 19:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifuge5/pseuds/Lucifuge5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The wolf, however, wasn't interested.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Moonlight (or, Five Things Paul Gross Knows About Being a Werewolf)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: None of this is real. Seriously.
> 
> A/N:For Omens, who is only person (other than me) who gets **really** shiny-eyed when anyone says WEREWOLVES. *g* Slippery slopes and all that. *facepalms for eternity*
> 
> Many, many thanks to Exbex , my wonderful beta, who gave me thumbs up when I said "here's the story. It's very cracky. \o?" Any remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
>  **Warnings/Spoilers:** Well, this is C6D RPS so very AU I can't even quantify it. Teeny-tiny crossover with Jossverse and Bandom. Written in 5 things style. No spoilers.

**1\. Given a choice, humans will see what they want to see.**

Paul picked up the water bottle in front of him, pretending to drink from it. Having woken up jetlagged, he needed to let all of his senses reach out and help him get a better reading on his surroundings. Yes, this was the first of the press junkets for _Downtime Transgressions_ , but the last thing he wanted to talk about was his role as a jewel thief in Don's latest movie.

He knew how the wilder part of him saw the situation: like looking from the inside of a cage, hackles raised, ready to strike at a moment's notice. Putting the bottle down, he did a not-so-discreet yawn, the better to catalogue all the different scents from the other people in the room.

The cameraman smelled bored with an underscent of black coffee and sweat. Shawna, the studio's publicist, had doused her body with one of those floral perfumes that grew rank the more he breathed it in. He was glad when she stepped out of the hotel room to answer some call from L.A.

It was something of a shock to pick up a _want want want_ scent coming off the plain-looking guy who was interviewing him. The more Paul stared at the guy, smiling every so often so as to not look threatening, the muskier the guy's scent got.

The wolf, however, wasn't interested.

It was only ten a.m., but the full moon was less than 24 hours away and Paul struggled to keep himself together. Unfortunately, he had run out of the Tibetan tea mix that Oz would send him once a month. He _could_ ask for a break and make it look like he was going outside for a smoke. The problem with that was that the wolf would think it was time to go hunting.

Rather than running away, Paul leaned forward and allowed the wolf's annoyance to become more transparent. It didn't take long for the interviewer to wrap things up and leave _fast_ , as if something was chasing him. Prey knew how to scatter away.

Paul sat back and closed his eyes. Alpha or no, putting humans in their place wasn't his favourite thing. Also, no matter how much he agreed with the wolf, ripping someone's throat out was a hard thing to cover up.

 

 **2\. He always thought he was going to be a lone wolf.**

Lycanthropy wasn't a prominent thing in his family. While it was true that his grandfather was half-werewolf—he didn't go through the transformation even though he did have most of the heightened senses—almost no one knew how feral Paul would get three nights every month.

Paul was a few days shy of turning twenty-one years old the first time he became a wolf. Had he been paying more attention to the calendar, he might have chosen to stay home. Instead, he drove up to a cabin by Mount Columbia to hang out with some theater friends. At the time, he had had no idea of how much the wolf had been raring to be set free.

By the time he arrived, it seemed like nearly the entire drama department of his university had gotten there before him. A big bonfire was lit. People stood in clusters of two or three, joking while holding cans of Molsons.

Feeling woozy after only one beer, he decided to lie down in his room rather than fall asleep and drool all over someone. His dream, which seemed inordinately long, was the most vivid one he'd ever had. He'd been running in the forest near the cabin, his body singing with the rush of freedom and all of sounds and smells of the woods in Alberta surrounding him, keeping him safe from harm.

In this dream, he was a wolf. Not that he could see himself. It was a dream.

He had stopped to lap up some cool water from a creek somewhere deep amongst the trees when his dream-wolf ears perked up. The scent carried in the wind was that of a female dream-wolf, not exactly in heat, but not afraid of him either. He sat on his haunches and let a few yips echo through the darkness, trying to coax this other dream-wolf from its hiding spot.

It didn't take long for a small wolf to trot out from some bushes to his right. Standing on its four legs, the female dream-wolf smelled curious and, for a brief moment, Paul wished his dream-wolf self could talk.

The other dream-wolf lifted its head and howled a song of longing that prompted Paul to answer with a lament of his own. At one point, they harmonized, making Paul's entire body shake with joy.

He'd been debating whether or not to cross the stream when the other dream-wolf got startled and scampered away.

Waking up outside of the cabin the next morning, Paul noticed two things: a) he was naked and b) there was an equally nude but very beautiful woman lying next to him.

"Hi, I'm Martha," she said, looking absolutely comfortable with her nudity.

He sat up, not really sure of what to do. "I--I'm Paul," he said after nodding.

Martha kept staring at him for a few more seconds. She gasped. "Oh, of course. First time, right?"

Paul frowned. He was about to say that no, he didn't usually dozed off in the nude when Martha smiled and some part of him jumped awake in recognition. A more rational explanation could wait until they had cleaned up and eaten breakfast, but knowing that she was somewhat like _whatever_ the hell he was, brought him immense relief. "Uh-huh, something like that."

 

 **3\. You have to let the wolf free or suffer the consequences.**

Contrary to what some would believe, not everyone in Canada was a werewolf. The strange part was how _many_ actors and musicians grew fur when the full moon shone bright in the night sky.

Frankly, Paul should have realized what Callum's true nature was much, much sooner. On the other hand, it turned out that not many people knew about Callum's wolfishness and those who did know kept it secret. For whatever the reason, Callum didn't have that dirt and blood smell that rogues couldn't shake off until they joined a Pack.

Much to his amusement, he and Callum kept circling each other as soon as filming began for _due South_ 's third season. Their unspoken game was to push into each other's personal space. Paul would clasp his hand over Callum's nape, dodging an elbow. Callum would sit close to Paul, silently daring him to shove him back. Paul would lick his lips and Callum would get distracted. Or Callum would scratch that patch of tan skin just to the side of his bellybutton and Paul would flub a line or two or half a page. That neither realized how wolf-like they were acting was a surprise to both.

Making things even more interesting (or complicated) was the amount of pheromones that permeated the air during those last two seasons of the show.

According to the set gossip, Callum was unattached—despite a very close friendship with some musician. Eventually, the time came for Paul to tell Martha. He had to explain, say something, anything because as his mate she did take precedence.

He was surprised when Martha rolled her eyes at his confession.

"We're wolves, Paul, not swans," she said while whisking eggs.

"So you're okay with . . ." he made a hand gesture. "I thought—"

" _We're_ important. What we feel here," she put down the bowl and touched his chest and then his head, "and here. But that doesn't mean that things between us would come undone if you claim him. Just be sure that you're willing to take on another wolf, with all the ups and downs that brings, and not just on a whim; that wouldn't be fair to anyone." She stepped closer to him. Her kiss was full of love and assurance. "We're OK."

Paul stared off into the distance as he ruminated, his cup of coffee growing cold.

 

 **4\. A happy Pack is a healthy Pack.**

The best part of being Canada's number one actor was having enough money to buy a lot of acreage in the northwestern part of Cold Lake. A Pack needed space to roam.

Though he never told anyone, Paul couldn't deny his pride and delight at running one of the four Alberta Packs. Funnily enough, other than himself and Callum, everyone else came from back East.

One thing that every Canadian werewolf knew was how unstable the Ontario Packs were. Callum, who was the one to integrate Don and Sandra into the fold, always said that it had to do with so many wolves living in Hollywood, CA.

So, if there's one distinguishing feature of his Pack, it was that none of them had made it to the "big time," at least not by Hollywood standards. The best part was that no one on the outside had noticed anything other than Paul, Callum, Don and co.'s eagerness to collaborate in many projects.

 

 **5\. No matter what anyone thinks, Alpha business is not as easy as it looks.**

Paul woke up sometime before dawn after Martha turned to her side. A few embers were all that remained of the fire Molly had built in the common area. Their glow was enough for Paul's eyes to look at the different couples snoozing about.

Don, Molly and Christina were a jumble of legs and arms in the far part of the cave. James and Sandra had fallen asleep almost at the opposite end.

Closest to the fire pit, Callum and Hugh lay cuddled against one another. The wolf in Paul wanted to growl at the sight. Callum was _theirs_ , damn it. And yet, neither man nor wolf could deny that Hugh's quasi-bad wolf essence grounded Callum in a way that Paul couldn't quite read.

Sometimes he wishes he had been a less agreeable Alpha—like Alex Trebek—one who'd demand submission instead of (mostly) compromise.

But his Pack stayed together and they were all there for each other. Having made sure that his Pack was safe, Paul put his head down and dozed off, dreaming of chasing a caribou across the prairies.

 

(Easter egg)  
 **5.5 Gerard Way wondered how different things would be.**

Even though they weren't in the same Pack, Gerard put his tail between his legs and followed Paul's advice. He called Callum after waking up drenched in sweat and feeling very close to losing it for real.

Callum turned out to be very good at listening and giving Gerard a zillion tips on how to deal with keeping the wolf healthy while keeping himself happy.

"It's a tricky thing," Callum said in between puffs of his cigarette, "because of the duality that must coexist in peace or else. There's no A.A. for," he twirled his right hand, cigarette ash floating in the air, "peo—things like us. But that doesn't mean it's, like, impossible either."

"Do you sometimes wish—"

"That I wasn't a werewolf?" Callum snorted. "Maybe back when I was still, you know . . . Like, I thought I could give all of myself over to the wolf, but I didn't have anything to balance all of that rage, that power, out and, well, that's how I almost lost an eye."

Gerard stopped his doodle, a full moon hiding behind a couple of clouds. "When I first turned, I used to wish that I wasn't this."

"And now?"

He bit his lip while thinking. "And now, I don't know how that person used to be me."


End file.
